


Comfort

by spoffyumi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic-ish, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoffyumi/pseuds/spoffyumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post CA:WS, Bucky has a nightmare and looks to his friend for comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

Bucky jerked awake in the pitch blackness. His legs were trapped, and he kicked until he realized they were tangled in the sheets. Sheets… a bed… The darkness kept him blind, but it was obvious that he was not on the street. Or in HYDRA headquarters. Or trapped at the bottom of a rocky gorge.

Still, it took Bucky a long time to calm his rasping breath and untangle himself. As the sweat that soaked his t-shirt dried, he started to shiver. He sat up and rubbed his face.  
It had been only a few days ago that Steve had found him – had run into him at the Smithsonian, of all places. Bucky was still having trouble remembering who he was. Deep inside, however, he felt a connection to Steve, which was, he supposed, why he had ended up pulling Steve out of the harbor instead of letting him drown.

Outside the windows, a blue light pulsed. Bucky slid out of bed and peered through the blinds. A regular cop car, probably an ordinary traffic violation. He swallowed. It could be nothing, but it could also be everything. The siren must have been what had woken him. He couldn’t seem to keep his senses from going on high alert. His heart was still racing.

The bed sheets had grown cold in his short absence, and Bucky didn’t think he’d be able to sleep again anyway. He walked softly into the hallway. The wood floor cooled his bare feet. He looked to the kitchen, with the green glow from the microwave clock, then down the hall, to Steve’s bedroom.

Thus far, things had been slightly awkward, to say the least. Bucky hadn’t had a normal conversation with another human being in seventy years. He hadn’t cooked himself dinner, or eaten dinner with anyone else, or sat on a couch to watch TV. In his memories, he had to take care of Steve. Protect him. This Steve needed no protection.

Bucky realized he had moved into Steve’s doorway. There was barely enough light to make out Steve’s shape under the blankets. How long had he been standing here? The blue police lights were gone. Too long.

With a churning in his stomach, he stared at his best friend sleeping soundly. He wanted nothing more than to slide into bed beside him, if only to feel the closeness of another human being. He shivered, and reached up with one hand to rub his arm. His hand encountered cold metal. He dropped his hand back to his side.

Why was he standing here? He looked back down the hallway at the door to his own room, which looked cold and dark and empty. The shift in weight made the floor creak. When he looked back into Steve’s room, his friend was sitting up, his hair a mess. “Bucky?” Steve asked. “You okay?”

Bucky’s eye twitched. That was the effect of Steve’s voice. Each and every time it brought back a flood of memories. It had been Steve’s voice that had started the whole process of remembering, back on the bridge. One word was all it had taken.

Would it be strange to ask Steve if he could sleep in the bed with him?

_“We could put couch cushions on the floor, like we did when we were kids…”_

When Bucky snapped back from the sudden memory, Steve was beside him. “Hey,” Steve said. Bucky could feel the weight of Steve’s hand on his left shoulder. Only the weight. “You can sleep in here tonight, if you want.”

Bucky cautiously allowed himself to make eye contact, through the long hair that obscured his face. Steve’s face was as open and honest as ever.

“Come on. Or we could put the cushions on the floor like when we were kids.” Steve smiled a little as he walked back into the bedroom, looking at Bucky like he wondered if Bucky understood the reference.

Bucky tried to smile. He hadn’t smile in so long he was sure it looked more like he was wincing. Steve’s face fell a little, which only confirmed Bucky’s fear. It seemed so impossible that anyone would try as hard as Steve was trying.

_“I’m not going to fight you. You’re my friend.”_

He followed Steve, walking round to the other side of the bed, and after Steve got under the covers, Bucky followed suit.

For a time he lay there, stiff and unmoving, listening to Steve’s breathing. He was sure Steve was still awake. He did not dare turn his head to see. Instead he counted Steve’s breaths, which marched through the dark night in Steve’s steadfast way, in and out, regular and deep. Minutes might have passed, or hours, and finally Bucky felt his muscles begin to relax, his eyes blinking shut for longer and longer.

It was with another full-body spasm that Bucky jerked awake this time. The siren outside Steve’s window wailed as it flew past on the street below. At some point he had rolled onto his side so that he curled into the strong wall of Steve’s back. Long after the siren had gone, Bucky’s pulse raced and his rasping breath filled the narrow space that separated him from his friend. His real hand curled around his metal one; he held them clasped together between Steve’s shoulder blades.

Again he forced himself to listen to Steve’s breathing. In and out. In and out. How did Steve sleep so soundly? Just as well, he thought. His eyes slipped to half-mast and his head dropped forward. When his forehead made contact with Steve’s back, he instinctively stiffened. But when Steve continued to sleep undisturbed, he allowed himself to relax.  
Through the thin layer of Steve’s worn t-shirt, Bucky could feel Steve’s warmth and the gentle rise of his breath. In and out.

The next time Bucky woke up, it was still dark. His heart was pounding, but not in the same way as before. This wasn’t the panicky feeling he had come to expect every time he woke up.

Also, his metal arm was around Steve’s waist. Not draped over his waist, as if he had casually laid it there while sleeping. His arm held Steve in a tight grip, so that Bucky’s front was pressed up against Steve’s back. Bucky’s stubby chin was pressed into the hollow between Steve’s neck and shoulder.  
At first, Bucky thought he had grabbed Steve mid-nightmare. He must have, and Steve’s presence had made him less panicky.

Then he realized that Steve was shaking.

He had no words to console his friend. He pulled Steve even tighter, and dipped his chin to press his mouth to Steve’s neck. Only then did he feel Steve take a deep breath. He felt Steve’s tremors slow.

He felt Steve’s hand on his arm.

In this way they both fell asleep together.


End file.
